Sunshine
by The Goliath Beetle
Summary: Lovino still suffers from anxiety attacks and nightmares, thanks to his abusive ex-boyfriend. Antonio is the seemingly well-adjusted paraplegic who's lost his ability to walk because of an utterly pointless accident. But which of the two is really healthier? While Lovino works hard to recover, Antonio is simply giving up hope... -Spamano one-shot. Warnings: anxiety, domestic abuse-


_Sunshine_

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><p><strong>AN: Another gift fic xD This one is for myfivemeters, who is a fantastic writer. They've written this beautiful Spamano one-shot for me called **_**It Changes You**_**. Check it out, it's fabulous. **

**I'd like to thank aphcarriedo and Spinyfruit for the ideas that made this fic into what it is now. They **_**really **_**helped, guys. I was very stuck with this one for too freaking long. Thanks so much! Although I'm not sure this is *exactly* what you had in mind, myfivemeters, I do hope you like it all the same :) **

**Warnings for references to abusive relationships. **

**Rafael – an OC, because I don't have the heart to make any of the Hetalia characters into abusive monsters. **

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><p>"<em>The sun shines not on us but in us." – John Muir<em>

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><p>"I had another nightmare yesterday," Lovino says quietly, eyes downcast. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. Everyone else murmurs softly in response, making Lovino cross his arms across his chest. "I dreamt that he was—" and then he stops. He glances up, swallowing to keep himself composed. Ivan looks like he's about to cry and Erika's looking at him firmly and warmly, despite her still-black eye. The others in the group have similar expressions, but Lovino can't take much more of that, so he looks away again. At Emma, instead. She sits in the center of the circle, giving him a tender look, pen lowered and notepad on her lap. "It's always the same dream," Lovino mutters finally, sighing as he sits down.<p>

"These things take time," Emma says in response. She looks like she wants to say more, but gauging Lovino's expression, she holds her tongue.

"I know." Lovino has heard that sentence so many times in the last three months, he can barely stand it anymore.

* * *

><p>"One iced hazelnut café mocha coming right up," Lovino says to the young woman across the counter. She's here often, always sitting at the table by the corner, typing away on her laptop with a stony, serious expression. She gives him a smile now. Lovino smiles back. He likes women a whole lot more these days. It's absurd, because women are capable of the same type of cruelty. Isn't Ivan proof of that? It took being stabbed in the stomach for him to wake up and realise he had to leave before Natalya actually killed him.<p>

Lovino's story is the same as most people's. Rafael had always liked a good drink, but once he lost his job, it turned into alcoholism. That turned into violent shouting, and _that _turned into slaps and punches and throwing glass objects and smashing Lovino's face against the wall again and again and again and—

Lovino gasps softly and drops the money she's just handed to him, desperately trying to reign in his breathing.

"Are you all right?" the woman asks, tilting her head worriedly.

Lovino swallows. "Y-yes. S-s-sorry, I—" and then he breaks off. "S-sorry," he mutters again, and she frowns. "T-take a seat and your drink will be served to you," he manages before dumping the money into the drawer and dashing to the bathroom, as he always does when these jolts of panic hit him. He locks himself inside the cubicle, presses his face against the corner, closes his eyes, and focuses on his breathing. In-out, in-out, like his therapist has coached him to do. And then he counts backwards from a hundred, before shakily pulling away and unlocking the door. His chest hurts from newly-mended broken ribs, but the pain is more psychological than anything.

When he gets back to work, Elizabeta is handling the customers, and she shoots him a worried glance when he approaches. "Are you all right?" she asks gently, because she _knows_. Because last month, he had such a terrible panic attack in front of her. And right when they were supposed to lock up for the night, too.

"Yeah," Lovino says quietly, his hands curling up. "Fine. Sorry."

"Really?" she presses, and he avoids her green-eyed gaze.

"Really. I'm still on the clock, let me handle this." Lovino knows exactly how important it is to get back on his feet. He's been rebuilding his life so meticulously. Small panic attacks and nightmares and those little jolts of nervousness…all of those will be a part of him for a while. He understands that. He's made his peace with it. But he refuses to give up now.

During his lunch break, Feliciano visits him, as he is wont to do these days. Feli has a packed lunch, and they sit in his younger brother's car with the radio on and eat and talk and it's really quite nice. He owes so much to Feli. So, so much. Because on that night when Lovino finally had enough, he hid in the bathroom with three broken ribs, a concussion and a broken arm and called up Feli on his mobile to please come and rescue him. Until that night, Feliciano and Ludwig hadn't a _clue _about the sort of man Rafael had become, and after that night, Feli's been very, very protective. Lovino appreciates it. He also knows he's going to need his brother for a while.

"Are you all right?" Feli asks, because Lovino's become quiet.

"I had a small panic attack today," he confesses. And he feels so damn guilty about it, although it's _not _his fault, it's Rafael's fault, and he's just the victim trying to recover.

Feli puts his fork down and places a hand on Lovi's shoulder. "Don't go back to work. Come home with me. We can watch funny animated movies and drink hot chocolate. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"It does. It sounds great. But you can't keep treating me like I'm so delicate, Feli, because if you do, I'm never going to get better. I need to tough this out. Besides, it's not the first time it's happened. You know that."

Feli frowns and sighs softly. "I'm picking you up from work," he declares, and Lovino does not argue. He doesn't quite want to. He feels safe with his brother. And a sense of security is something he's not entirely used to. Not yet. He will be. Someday, he will be.

After lunch, he goes back to manning the counter, thinking not about Rafael but instead about how fantastic the pasta was, and how he really needs to ask Feli for his recipe on how to make the tomato sauce like that, because _wow, was it good or what? _

(Thinking things like that – _forcing _himself to think like that – makes him feel happy. And he deserves to be happy.)

The bell over the café door suddenly chimes, and a man wheels himself in. Lovino pauses in mid-thought. A paraplegic. But he's not old, or even middle-aged. This man is _young. _In his _twenties. _Probably the same age as Lovino, actually. He has tan, tan skin and the brightest green eyes Lovino's ever seen. Untidy brown curls, and a huge grin. "Hola!" he says, and Lovino swallows.

"Hi," he replies quietly. He's still not too comfortable around men. He needs to be close to them – or at least know them well enough – for him to feel safe. Even if this man looks not just harmless, but also friendly. "What can I get you?"

The man pats the shoulder bag slung across his neck. "I need to use my laptop. Is there a power outlet here?"

Lovino does not meet this man's eyes. He can't. He's too afraid. "A power outlet," he repeats. "Sure. Well, all the tables have plug points." He points to the one closest to the wall. "There, you can go there, if you'd like."

The man glances at the table, grins, and says, "That's perfect. Now that I'm here, I'd like a latte."

"Sure," Lovino says again, "What kind?"

"Um…" he scratches his head. "I don't know."

Lovino looks up and studies the man for a moment, ignoring his racing heart. He's going to continue to ignore this stupid fear. He will not indulge this weakness. "You'll really have to be more specific."

The man chews his lower lip. "Um, okay…what's your favourite?"

"Huh? Mine?" And then Lovino sighs. "I drink espressos."

"Oh! Okay, sure! I'll have an espresso!"

Something about this man makes Lovino think that espressos are not quite his thing. They're dark and bitter, sort of like Lovino himself. But it's not in his job description to offer coffees based on personalities of people he's known for thirty seconds, so he simply says, "Okay. An espresso."

After the transaction is made, the man wheels away, and Lovino puts him out of his mind. Just another customer. He smiles when Lovino brings him his drink, and Lovino tries and fails to smile in response.

Back at the counter, Lovino's falling into his world of self-made nightmares, because that's exactly what happens when he's too quiet for too long, and there's nothing else to distract him. There aren't too many customers, except for the paraplegic and one couple sitting in the far end of the café, looking like they don't want to be disturbed.

Rafael used to love going to cafes with him. It was where they had their first date, a Starbucks outside Rafael's work place. That was two years ago, and things had been just perfect back then. How had it become this bad? How did Lovino allow it to get this bad? He could have walked out. Why didn't he?

"Hey," says someone suddenly, and Lovino looks over to him. The paraplegic is looking at him with concern, his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth twisted into a small frown. "You're looking a little pale. Is everything all right?"

Lovino regards him without saying a word. And then he nods before looking away.

There are two Lovinos. One wants to recover, the other wants to drown in self-pity. Sometimes – _most times_ – the second Lovino is more overwhelming. This is one of those times. He bites his bottom lip, takes out his phone, and types, **Feli, I feel really low.**

The response is instant.

_Feli: I'm taking you home. Stay put._

**Lovino: Don't. I'm fine. Just…ugh. It'll pass. It always does. I need this job. It pays like shit, but I need it. **

_Feli: Fratello, I'm worried :( I was worried when I met you for lunch, too. You're not having a good day, and I just want you to feel better. _

**Lovino: Why don't you cheer me up? You're good at that, aren't you?**

_Feli: Okay. _

_Feli: I SAW THIS REALLY CUTE PUPPY TODAY :D IT WANTED TO PLAY WITH ME! I TOOK PICTURES! WANT TO SEE?_

_Feli: *attached image*_

_Feli: *attached image*_

_Feli: *attached image*_

_Feli: ISN'T IT SO CUTE? :D :D :D_

**Lovino: Is that a Labrador Retriever? **

**Lovino: It has a cute face.**

_Feli: Siiiiiiiii :D _

_Feli: I want a puppy._

_Feli: Should I get one?_

**Lovino: What about the Potato Bastard?**

_Feli: Luddy grew up with dogs!_

**Lovino: Then what the fuck are you waiting for? **

The door chimes and Lovino glances up, shoving his phone away. Puppies. Puppies solve everything, don't they? He already feels a bit better. The man who walked is well-dressed, handsome, blonde and blue-eyed. He's carrying shopping bags in both hands, and walks right past Lovino and goes straight for the guy in the wheelchair, saying, "Antonio, _mon cher_, I was so worried! I turned around for one second and you were gone!"

"I got hungry, Francis!" the paraplegic – Antonio? – says, although that's rubbish, because he hasn't ordered anything to eat, and that espresso is almost untouched. "And this café was so cute! Nestled there, barely visible!" He pats his laptop resting on the table, adding, "Besides, I thought I might just finish off a bit of work while you were shopping. I was getting so bored."

The one called Francis rolls his eyes very, very emphatically as he pulls up a chair and sits down. "Shopping isn't boring. Besides, I thought the idea was that we were buying you something nice to wear. I really am tired of seeing you in those shabby shirts."

His comment makes Antonio glance defensively down at his faded red turtleneck, and his green eyes flash in a combination of annoyance and amusement. "Well, I like it. Besides, you just started buying scarves and whatever. So I got bored! Anyway," Antonio adds quickly, before Francis can come up with an argument, "Look at this." He turns his laptop over so it's facing Francis. Lovino can't see what's on the screen, but he's not actually that interested.

Francis smiles softly, saying, "It's perfect. Very, very good. They're going to love it."

Antonio laughs. "I know!" He's got this very interesting Spanish accent.

"Do you want something to eat?" Francis asks, getting to his feet and taking out a black wallet from one of his shopping bags.

"Oh – um, sure," Antonio says, just a little bit uncertain. "I'll get it myself, actually."

"Oh no, don't worry about it. I was getting up anyway. I could just kill for something to drink."

"I want something chocolaty," Antonio says after a moment, turning his eyes back to his laptop screen with a waning smile. "I tried having an espresso, but that's really not my thing."

_I'm not surprised_, Lovino thinks. Chocolate suits Antonio better. Maybe a chocolate milkshake with ice cream and extra sugar. And a smoked chicken sandwich to munch on.

"And maybe a smoked chicken sandwich, if they have one?" Antonio asks, and Lovino jerks his head up sharply. It's like the man read his mind.

"Of course, _cher_, I'll be right back."

Francis walks like a male model, Lovino notes absently. He even dresses like one. The man saunters over, gives Lovino the smallest of grins and says, "_Bonjour_, how are you today?"

"Hello," Lovino replies automatically. "I'm great. What can I do for you?"

"Ah, let's see," Francis stares past Lovino's head at the enlarged menus hanging on the walls. Lovino unconsciously takes a step back. He doesn't know why Francis fills him up with such dread. In a fair fight, Lovino – despite being lanky and a little on the skinny side – can probably punch him unconscious. The man's nails are manicured, for heaven's sake. He's clearly not the sort of person who could cause physical harm to someone else.

"Well," Francis begins after a moment, "What do you have to drink that's chocolaty? My friend here would that. Maybe a hot chocolate? What do you recommend?"

Lovino throws a glance at Antonio, whose face is scrunched up in concentration as he works at his computer. "Chocolate milkshake, I think. We have hot chocolate, but if you want my personal opinion…" Is he allowed to offer his personal opinion? What if Francis takes it as an insult? What if he yells at Lovino? Oh god, oh god, oh god no no no please no—

"That sounds fantastic!" Francis says with a bright pearly-white grin. "Perfect. A chocolate milkshake, a smoked chicken sandwich – um, is everything all right?"

_88, 87, 86, 85, 84…_

_2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12…_

_Breathe. In, out, in, out. _

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…_

"S-si, s-sorry," Lovino stammers, feeling his years go red. "Smoked ch-chicken and chocolate milkshake." He closes his eyes for a fraction and opens them. Francis is staring back with a deep frown.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asks.

"Yeah, f-fine," Lovino insists, looking away. "Anything else?"

Francis's expression hasn't changed, but he shifts his eyes away from Lovino and back to the menu on the wall. "I'd like an iced tea, strawberry flavoured. What do you recommend to snack on?"

Awkwardly, Lovino gestures to the glass window beside the counter where all the food is on display. Francis glances at Lovino and then to the food. He takes a long time choosing. Or maybe it feels like a long time, because Lovino is wired and he's just barely keeping away an anxiety attack. He just wants to be able to run to the bathrooms and break down.

"I'll have a salmon and cheese croissant," Francis finally declares.

"Great." Lovino punches in the order, takes the money from Francis, returns the man's change, and finally says, "It'll be served at your table shortly."

And then he bolts to the toilet, locks himself inside a cubicle, and allows himself to panic in peace.

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><p>Lovino has therapy on Mondays and support group on Fridays, and since today's a Saturday, he's readied himself for an uncomplicated, unemotional, tearless night in front of the TV. Feli will probably be there. Ludwig might come home late, but he's a doctor and he has crazy hours. He comes to work as usual, and today's better because he doesn't have quite as many panic attacks. The owner is a tiny old woman with short white curls, owlish spectacles and floral dresses in various colours. Lovino's rather fond of her, and always volunteers when she asks for a little extra work. Last week, he helped her add some more plants to her kitchen garden. She lives right above the café she's been running for over three decades.<p>

It's a cute, obscure, cosy little place with glass doors and a dark green awning. The specials are written in yellow chalk on a blackboard resting on an easel. There are only seven or eight tables, but the establishment is well-equipped. Apart from power outlets, it also has a fire alarm and all the emergency numbers on speed-dial. It serves all sorts of coffees and teas, whole milk unless someone asks specifically for two-percent, and has a huge selection of cakes and sandwiches and other savouries. Elizabeta and Michelle are the only other servers, with Elizabeta being the most senior.

Despite the pathetic salary and the frequent panic attacks, Lovino likes working here. For now, it's perfect.

Lovino's on shift and it's pouring buckets outside when Antonio – from yesterday – wheels himself in. He shakily closes a dripping umbrella and carefully puts it inside the bucket by the doors. He's almost entirely drenched. The wheelchair leaves a trail of water as it slides across the room. Antonio looks cold and unhappy, his sling bag damp and slowly sliding off his lap.

It's only natural for Lovino to rush out from behind the counter, approach cautiously (despite the roaring fear in his head), and say, "Do you need some help?"

Antonio's eyes, previously dull and sad, sparkle at the sight of Lovino. He looks vaguely like a Christmas tree with fairy lights. Offering a big smile, he says, "Oh no, I'm fine. A little cold, but fine."

Lovino glances to the other customers, who are staring unabashedly at the man in the wheelchair. Lovino really hates conflict, but he throws them a cold look before turning back to Antonio. "Can I wheel you to a table?" The only free one is right at the corner, very cosy and private, but difficult to navigate with that chair.

Antonio's eyes slowly move around the room, looking past teenagers with their partners, businessmen with their briefcases, college students with their friends, past various cups and plates and glasses and wallets and bags, finally resting on the only free table in the room. "That looks like a tight squeeze," he assesses simply.

"I could ask someone else to move."

"No, no, don't do that. I'll sit right there. It looks quite cosy, doesn't it?" His eyes flicker to Lovino as though having an internal debate. He chews his bottom lip for a second. "Um…sorry. Can you…never mind."

Lovino shakes his head a little, goes behind Antonio, grabs the handle of the chair and slowly pushes. He doesn't expect the chair to be quite this heavy. He's not even sure how much pressure he ought to apply. What if he does something stupid and Antonio just falls out? Oh god, that would be such a nightmare. Lovino would never forgive himself if he—

"Thank you!" Antonio gushes, and with a start, Lovino realises that they're at the table and nothing bad has happened.

"Don't mention it. What would you like to eat?" Usually, people need to come up to the counter to place their order, but Lovino makes an exception just this once.

"Something hot, _por favor. _It's freezing outside, and I'm all wet."

"How does a hot chocolate sound?"

"Oh perfect! Could you add whipped cream on top? And cinnamon? I just love cinnamon! And chocolate powder?"

"…Sure. Something to eat?"

"Hmm…I had the smoked chicken sandwich yesterday. That was just amazing. But I want something else now."

Lovino just blinks at Antonio. Antonio blinks back. Both expect the other to recommend something, but Lovino's not a mind reader. He can't just sit there and guess what Antonio's in the mood to eat today. Maybe fish and chips? No, Antonio'd probably like a croissant of some sort. Cheese, maybe. With ketchup and mustard, although Lovino's never been a fan of either.

"How about a croissant?" Antonio wonders out loud. "Francis had this really nice salmon and cheese one yesterday. Er – Francis, my friend. I don't know if you remember him?"

"I do."

"Oh, great. Well, he had this really cool croissant, and—"

"Salmon and cheese."

"No ketchup or mustard, okay? I really don't like those."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Lovino mutters. "Hold on, I'll just go get your order." Well, at least his guess is partially right.

While he's making Antonio's hot chocolate, he watches the man from the corner of his eyes. Antonio's sitting at that table with his laptop open. People keep shooting him these glances, as though he's an exhibit in a museum. They're already pitying him. Lovino knows what that's like. Elizabeta sometimes watches him that way when she thinks Lovino isn't looking.

He's too afraid to admit that Antonio's attractive. The concept of having someone to love still terrifies him. And yes, his brain has leapt from A to Z in a matter of seconds, but that's only because everything he does and everyone he sees reminds him of Rafael and how madly in love Lovino was with him. Love does not necessarily lead to pain. Lovino knows this. He's seen it. He's seen how happy Feliciano and Ludwig are. One wayward relationship cannot and will not destroy Lovino's ability to believe in love. He does not want to give Rafael that power over him.

But still.

He simply wishes that Antonio wasn't so attractive.

* * *

><p>Antonio stays well after everyone else leaves. It's dark now, and Lovino's shift is about to end. The rain has stopped, but Antonio's still working. He's been smiling at Lovino every ten minutes, glancing up just to search for him, giving him these cheeky little grins as though they're sharing a secret. Lovino's not sure what to make of it all. But he's not had an attack yet, so that's fine. Antonio just seems friendly, and Lovino's not as scared of him as he was yesterday.<p>

When Lovino approaches to go refill Antonio's fourth hot chocolate, Antonio smiles widely at him and says, "This might sound strange, and I'm sorry if it does, but I just felt like I had to say this. You have a fascinating face."

Lovino almost drops the empty cup. He only barely catches it anyway, and his hands are already shaking. "W-what?"

Antonio suddenly realises that he's probably said something wrong, because his face falls in its entirety and he says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm not s-scared," Lovino lies. But he's absolutely terrorised. He doesn't even know _why. _Nothing in the way Antonio said it made him think of Rafael. He's just scared. He's just so scared of _everything._

Antonio cocks his head to the side. His hands reach out, but Lovino flinches away. Antonio backs off. "Please don't be scared. You're safe."

"What makes you think I'm scared?" Lovino asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He's trying and trying to push the fear away. It's stupid to be so frightened. There's nothing wrong. He's fine. He's absolutely fine.

"You just…" Antonio begins, practically flailing for the right words. "I can sense it," he finishes, somewhat lamely. "And…well…don't be scared. You're too wonderful for it."

"You barely know me," Lovino says, looking away. Breathing heavily. Hands balled tightly, arms by his side. Calm, calm, calm down.

"Sometimes, you don't need to _know _someone to understand how wonderful they are," Antonio says with a soft, simple, gentle smile. "Um…I'm Antonio, by the way. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

"Lovino…Vargas." And then he looks right into the other man's green eyes and quickly says, "Let me go get you your hot chocolate." He turns and scampers off. Behind him, he can hear Antonio chuckle. But it's not out of spite or sick amusement. It's almost…friendly.

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><p>After that night, Antonio comes into the café almost every single day. Each time, he tries to talk to Lovino. He usually rambles on about something stupid, something completely harmless. Spanish soap operas, his favourite books, tomatoes. Lovino's never met someone who can talk quite as much about tomatoes, but he doesn't mind. He likes tomatoes too. And in an uncharacteristically bold gesture one day, says, "I…made pasta." His voice is soft and unsure, he's looking at the ground, and he knows he's shaking just so slightly. "You'd like it, I think. It's very…tomato-y."<p>

Antonio's face brightens up, and that makes Lovino's heart stammer even more. So they sit down and share Lovino's lunch, despite the fact that it's not technically allowed. It doesn't matter, because they're the only two people in the café. When Antonio takes the first bite, he gasps in surprise and says, "My god, this tastes professional! You're amazing!"

And Lovino finds, for the first time in a year and a half, he's feeling the odd jolt of happiness.

That doesn't mean he's free from the panic attacks and nightmares. Almost every night, he has that _dream. _The one where Rafael is pulling him by the hair and slamming him face first into the wall, again and again and again and again and again, and all Lovino wants to do is die, but it just isn't happening. He's woken up in cold sweat more than once. And sometimes, he screams in his sleep. On those nights, Feli leaves Ludwig's side and curls up next to him, whispering Italian lullabies as he strokes Lovino's hair.

And each time Lovino sees his bruises, he gets tiny bursts of anxiety. They're still there. The one on his chest is taking its time to heal, although Lovino sees it decreasing every day. But there are scars. There's one on his stomach from where Lovino had been slammed into a glass table, shards of the stuff piercing into him and almost killing him.

Therapy is going okay. Lovino gets so tearful, though. He always comes home feeling heavy and vulnerable, and it's only Feli's sweet voice and Ludwig's quiet understanding that makes the pain lesser. He hates the support group just as much as he hates therapy. Oh, he's very fond of the people. But all of them seem to have had it _so much worse_. It makes Lovino feel like he's faking it. Like he's had it easy. Like he's complaining about nothing.

One day, Lovino just breaks. It's been a stressful week. Lots of nightmares. Feli and Ludwig had a minor argument this morning, and just that makes Lovino want to sob. It's night time. Feli's supposed to pick him up, but Antonio's still sitting at the café, drinking latte after latte. It's funny how his choice in drink changes each time.

And Lovino just…collapses.

Absolutely nothing has triggered it. Nothing. But he's suddenly curling up into a ball and hyperventilating and his mind is absolute chaos and he's pulling his hair, anything, _anything _to make the panic subside.

Antonio is there.

Antonio is _there._

He wheels over to Lovino, crying out his name. He can't exactly lift him up, but he puts both hands on Lovino's shoulders, and then he tries to rub his back. He's saying things like, "Shh, you're safe, you're safe, Lovi, calm down, it's okay, Lovi, you're safe." Over and over and over again until Antonio's voice has filled Lovino from the inside and warmed him up like a hot water bottle. It acts as a sedative. The chaos stalls. And sure, Lovino's pale and shaky and he can barely stand, but he can breathe somewhat normally now.

* * *

><p>"What happened to you?" Antonio asks.<p>

It's been twenty minutes since the attack. Lovino's nursing a latte that was supposed to be Antonio's. They're sitting at Antonio's table, his laptop shut but blinking, and the Italian is hunched over and curled up into himself. He's not said a word yet, he's completely avoiding eye-contact, but Antonio's voice is as gentle as ever, and Lovino finds himself looking upwards and right into the man's green irises. The glance only lasts for a second or two, but that's more than enough to infuse a bit of courage into him.

"T-three months ago," Lovino says quietly, "I got out the w-worst relationship in my life." He pauses, because he can't say the word 'abusive'. Instead, he says, "I s-still have t-the scars."

"Oh," says Antonio.

"Yeah, um. Yeah."

"I'm so sorry," Antonio says after a moment. He's flailing for words again, although Lovino can't imagine why. He always knows just what to say. "I can't imagine what that must have been like. I'm so, so, so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Lovino shakes his head. "I'm getting help. I…I'm rebuilding my life. It's h-hard, but I'm doing it."

"Oh, Lovi…"

"But if you w-want to do something," Lovino stammers, his face flushing as he stares resolutely down into the coffee cup, "Could you keep me c-company until my b-brother arrives? I…I'm feeling…scared."

"As if I'm going to leave you when you're like this." Antonio's hand reaches out very, very cautiously. It's like he's trying an experiment. His fingers brush against Lovino's knuckles. He backs off as the Italian flinches. "Will you let me hold your hand?"

"…No," Lovino says quietly, almost sadly. "Not…not yet."

"Okay." A pause, and then, "I just want you to know something, though. You really are incredibly wonderful."

Lovino's not sure what happens next, because his memories get a bit fuzzy. The next thing he knows, he's awake and in bed, with Feli sitting next to him, stroking his hair. He's back at Feli and Ludwig's home.

"You feel asleep on the table," Feli explains. "One of the customers was keeping you company. He made sure to leave only after you were with me."

Lovino's not sure who's really the more wonderful of the two. He's never felt that strongly about himself, but Antonio? Antonio seems just…just lovely.

* * *

><p>Things go back to normal, somehow. Antonio never pries, but Lovino isn't scared of him anymore. The thought is simply absurd. The Spaniard still comes every single day, working or reading or simply sitting there and chatting with Lovino.<p>

"I never thanked you for that day," Lovino blurts out, two weeks later.

"Really?" Antonio asks, looking genuinely confused. "You've been giving me frequent customer discounts. I didn't even know this café had that policy. I just assumed that it was a thank-you! Although you really didn't have to, Lovino. I did want any decent human being would do."

Lovino turns scarlet and looks away. He's been giving Antonio discounts? He hadn't even realised! "Yeah, it's…whatever."

He'll never admit it, but he worries about Antonio too. The Spaniard isn't half as cheerful as he lets on, and anyone with eyes can see that if they're looking. For one, he hates being pitied. Lovino used to offer to push him around, but he's noticed the expression on Antonio's face, and he's stopped doing that now. Of course, that's not it. Pride, in some cases, is a good thing. No, Antonio seems to hide pain.

It's not like Lovino hasn't noticed. There are days when Antonio is pale and spacey and winces as he tries to adjust himself in his chair. There are days when his eyes look red. Though he's smiling, the expression seems to waver.

That's why Lovino gets a little concerned when Antonio wheels himself into the toilet and doesn't come out for the better part of an hour.

Lovino doesn't notice, at first. Not until he glances up after serving five other customers. Only then does he notice that Antonio hasn't asked for a refill of what he's drinking today (peach iced tea). The burger on his plate is not just untouched, but has become limp. The condensation on the glass of the drink has evaporated, and all the ice has become water.

Then, Lovino looks at his watch.

He's a little perplexed, but he goes back to the counter anyway. Waiting. Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen.

This is ridiculous.

So he turns on the balls of his feet and heads to the toilets.

There are three cubicles. Two normal ones, and one for the disabled and elderly. Antonio is in neither. No, he's sitting there with his head pressed against the granite sink. The mirror reflects just the visible mop of his brown curls. Lovino hears the sound of crying.

"Antonio," Lovino whispers, and in a flash, the Spaniard is looking up. Yes, his eyes are damp and red, but he plasters on a smile for Lovino's benefit.

"Hi! Sorry, was I taking too long? Aw no, did the burger get cold?" His voice is trembling and his accent is becoming stronger and stronger.

"Antonio, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Antonio replies, his voice several octaves too high. Lovino approaches, cautious as ever.

"Antonio, tell me what's wrong." Lovino places one hand on Antonio's shoulder, and the Spaniard winces. He closes his eyes and a single tear slips down his face.

"I'm so sorry, Lovino. I'm not having a good day."

"How can I help?"

"You can't."

"That's not true. There must be something I can do."

Antonio wipes his eyes on the back of his hand. "Everything hurts."

"Do you have painkillers or something?"

"Yes. At home. I forgot to carry them. I…" his voice trails away. He wipes his eyes again, and forces a quivering smile. "It's really not that bad, I promise. I'm just overreacting as always."

Just this once, Lovino pushes Antonio. He wheels him out of the bathroom, clocks out, and then leaves the café. Lovino hails a cab. It's an absolute production getting Antonio inside, and it doesn't help that he's hissing and breathing quickly. Lovino's almost glad that Antonio's putting on a brave face, because he doesn't know if he can take Antonio crying again. It's just so bizarre. It's just plain wrong.

Antonio quickly mumbles his home address and the taxi speeds off. Lovino's sitting beside Antonio, watching the other man turn whiter and whiter. His eyes are clamped shut now, and his breathing has gone to levels of almost hyperventilation.

It's strange and unexpected, what Lovino does next. He doesn't like physical contact. He hasn't let anyone except Feli touch him after Rafael. But slowly, he reaches out and takes Antonio's hand. The Spaniard's skin is cold. It's practically icy.

It's weird, touching someone again. Lovino's almost forgotten the feel of human skin. Feli doesn't count. He and Feli are so close, they're like an extension of each other. No, this is different. Despite being cold, Antonio's skin burns through the pads on Lovino's fingers. It's causing a stir inside the Italian. It's like an explosion in his chest. Only, it's not _agony_, like when Rafael kicked him. This is making his face turn red, his heart swell. It's making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It's sending goose bumps all through Lovino. He feels very…very alive.

Antonio opens his eyes and gives Lovino a small, exhausted smile. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Lovino's response is the same as Antonio's was, those many nights ago. "As if I'm going to leave you when you're like this." And for good measure, he adds, "Don't be an idiot."

* * *

><p>Getting Antonio back onto the wheelchair and up the elevator is another production. Antonio's got tears in his eyes again. But as the elevator dings and dings and dings as it ascends each storey of the building, Antonio softly mutters, "I wish I wasn't living so high up."<p>

"You don't like heights?"

"No, not really."

The keys to Antonio's apartment are in his laptop bag. Lovino opens the door easily, pushing Antonio inside. The apartment is very, very nice. White walls, gossamer curtains, gleaming countertops, flat-screen TV, elaborate music system, glass table. There's a white rug near that grey couch, but Antonio directs Lovino to his bedroom instead.

The bedroom is different. Dark red walls that look almost maroon. Maroon curtains, cotton sheets, a study desk, a cupboard, and _paintings. _The walls are full of canvas paintings. Amateur stuff, Lovino's seen better, but still. They're all so wild and colourful, although there's a darkness to them. Fierce brushstrokes, murky designs. It's a side of Antonio Lovino's never seen before. The Spaniard catches him looking, and says, "I made those."

"They're…scary."

Antonio laughs, but it sounds more like a hacking cough. Lovino jumps into action. He pushes Antonio right up to the bed, and it's then that the Spaniard softly says, "I can handle this. I mean, usually. I can do this on my own." His eyes are full of tears as he looks at Lovino. "I feel so helpless."

"It's okay," Lovino says quietly. "Let me help. Just this once."

Antonio bites his bottom lip so hard he almost draws blood as Lovino eases him onto the bed and pulls the covers over him. He's as white as death right now. It's absolutely terrifying.

"Where are the medicines?"

"In the kitchen. It's that little strip of red pills near the stove. But they're really powerful painkillers. I can't take them on an empty stomach."

"Let me cook something for you."

Antonio's eyes widen in a panic. "No, don't, don't worry so much! I'm okay! I'm sure there are leftovers from last night, and—"

"Hey," Lovino says gently, holding Antonio's hand again. "It's okay, you know? It's okay for people to take care of you."

"I-I—"

"You don't want to be a burden. I know what that feels like, trust me. But if you need help, you need help. Nothing to be ashamed of. I know you're independent and that's just great. I wish I was as tough as you are. But when you're not feeling so great, there's absolutely nothing wrong with letting another person help you out."

Antonio falls silent. More tears slip down his face. And he nods quietly.

Lovino returns ten minutes later with hastily made jam and butter sandwiches. He's got the pills and a glass of water. All of it is balanced on a tray that he places over Antonio's lap, before sitting beside the other man. There's enough place on Antonio's bed for two people.

Lovino's not sure what he's doing anymore. But he slides in as well, and pulls the covers over his legs because the room's a little chilly. Antonio smiles, and it's hesitant and pained. He nibbles on one of the sandwiches before saying, "Thank you."

"Stop fucking thanking me," Lovino snaps, but it's not irritation, just concern.

A pause, and then, "It's so stupid. The whole thing. The wheelchair. Everything. It's so stupid, you don't even know."

"What do you mean?"

Antonio sighs. And then he gestures to a framed photograph on the nightstand by Lovino's side of the bed. Lovino picks it up. It's a picture of Antonio in between Francis, and a white-haired, red-eyed man Lovino recognises instantly as Ludwig's older brother, Gilbert. "You know Gilbert?! His brother, Ludwig, is my brother's boyfriend!"

"Really?" Antonio says mildly. "Feliciano Vargas?"

"Yes!"

"I _thought_ you looked like him. I'm not surprised. Small world." A pause, and then, "Those two are my best friends." He takes another bite of his sandwich. "We've grown up together. Gilbert teaches football to college students. Francis is a fashion designer. And me? I'm a graphic artist. We're not even very much alike, personality-wise. But…you know, despite that, we're inseparable." His eyes flutter to Lovino sadly. "Except for that one stupid argument. I don't even remember what it was about. But I do remember storming out of Francis's apartment and marching down the stairs, and…I slipped. I don't know what I slipped on, but…and…well…" he breaks off, taking a shuddering breath. Lovino puts the photograph down and holds Antonio's hand again. "When I woke up, they were telling me I'd injured my spinal cord. It happened last year.

"This whole year has been about physiotherapy and medication and surgeries…so many surgeries…and…" his voice trails away, but there's a slight spark of happiness in his eyes next when he says, "I'm scheduled for a major surgery in a couple of months. But they're saying that it'll most likely help me walk again! So this whole ordeal will be over." His smile his genuine, Lovino notes with a crackle of electricity that runs through his veins. It's so beautiful when it's real.

"That's great," Lovino says. "I'm really happy for you."

"Yeah, right?" Antonio laughs weakly before finishing a sandwich and taking another. "What were we even arguing about? It seems so pointless now." He lowers his eyes and that sadness is back again. "I loved playing football."

"You'll get to play it again. Soon, Antonio. Just a few more weeks."

"Yeah. I can't wait." He looks back up, the brave face slipping on again. "How have you been? Any more nightmares?"

"Not as many, these days." Lovino's eyes travel to the ceiling. "Not as many."

"That's good."

"Not as many anxiety attacks, either. I hate those, though. It's like you can't breathe. Your head is screaming…I hate those. I keep asking myself why I stayed. He kept hurting me. And then he'd break out of his alcoholic rage. He'd apologise. He'd cry. He'd fix me back. When you're that badly beaten up, you crave affection from anyone—even if it is your attacker. I literally used to _wait _for him to snap and hit me, so that the rage would be over and he'd be sweet again. That's pretty pathetic, isn't it?"

"Hey, I'm not judging. It's such a complicated, tragic situation. I'm just glad you're out of it." Antonio finishes the last of his sandwiches and Lovino hands him the medication. He takes it without complaint, sighing as he settles into the pillows. "I might fall asleep."

"That's okay." Lovino plays with the hem of his shirt, hidden under the covers. "It destroyed my life. I work at a fucking café. You know what my original job was? Before…before Rafael?"

"No, what?"

"I used to have my own restaurant. That bastard…he made me sell it. And I did. Why did I? He used to stalk me, he used to disallow me from meeting my family, my friends. And I didn't say a damn thing. I knew I was being abused, but I didn't say a damn thing! God, I'm so weak."

"Hardly," Antonio replies, although his voice sounds calmer, more rested. He blinks lazily, staring up at the ceiling with Lovino. "It takes real guts to get out a situation that bad. And look at you, building your life back from scratch. How many people have the courage to do that? I know I don't. I wake up every morning feeling so pathetic about myself. Although I know that my situation is temporary, it still sucks." A pause, and then Antonio adds, "For what it's worth, Lovi, I really like your cooking. Even if it's sandwiches. I'm sure you'll go back to owning a restaurant one day. Several, maybe."

A small laugh. "That's the plan. My therapist says I need to do something not very stressful. So yeah, a café. In a few months, I want to go looking for a job in a restaurant. Work there for…I don't know, a year, two? Save some money. Get my own place and car. Rafael bashed my car in, you know? Then, once I'm comfortable, I'll get my own restaurant."

"Perfect," Antonio says with a mild yawn. "And maybe we can…I don't know, run it together or something…I'll be able to walk by then, so I can be the waiter. You'll be the chef, of course…It'll be fun…don't you think? I love hanging out with you…"

"You're rambling. Those must be some really strong painkillers."

"They're like elephant tranquilizers…" Antonio murmurs before his eyes flutter and close.

"Antonio?"

"Hmm…I'm awake…keep talking…"

Lovino lets out another small laugh.

* * *

><p>Lovino wakes up to his phone ringing. It sounds so distant, though. He's been dreaming about Rafael, although it's less about the torture and more about Rafael becoming physically smaller and smaller, until he fits into the palm of Lovino's hand. And Lovino simply flicks him off like he's an insect. It's a great dream to wake up to. Lovino fumbles, reaching for the buzzing in his breast pocket. "…<em>Si<em>?" he mumbles when he presses the answer button.

"_Lovi, oh thank god! Where have you been?! I've called and called and texted and texted! Please be okay! I'm freaking out! Lovi? Lovi, can you hear me? Are you all right? Hello?"_

"Feli?" Lovino sits bolt upright. He's so damn confused. Whose bed is this? He doesn't recognise the room. Where—Antonio?! Oh _yeah_! The man's still sleeping. With a jolt and a nervous shudder, Lovino realises that until mere seconds ago, he'd been curled up into Antonio's arm, using the man's chest like a pillow. He's not had physical contact like that since Rafael! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what is going on?

"_Lovi! Where have you been? You've been missing for hours! I was so freaked out! Elizabeta said you went off with some man and I was terrified Rafael had violated the restraining order!" _

"I – um, it's okay, I'm fine. It wasn't Rafael," Lovino mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I just – I was helping a friend out and we ended up chatting. I lost track of time. My phone was on silent."

"_Friend? Who?"_

"Um – it's nobody. I mean, Antonio. I mean that customer on the wheelchair. He needed help getting home, so I helped out."

"_Why do you sound so out of it?"_

"I – um, I don't sound out of it."

"_Yes, you do. Lovi, is everything all right? What happened to that customer?"_

"He's disabled. Shit happens sometimes," Lovino mutters. "It's fine now. It's okay."

"_Oh. Are you coming home for dinner?"_

"What? What time is it?"

"_Vee~ It's almost six thirty, Lovi." _

"What?! Yeah, yeah, I guess I'll come home. Antonio's asleep anyway."

"_Asleep? You said you were chatting." _

"Yes! I mean, no! I – it's – look, it doesn't matter." Lovino's face matches the room walls, he just knows it. "I'll be home soon, so just wait."

"_Will you be okay on your own?"_

"Of course. Quit worrying. I'll call you in a bit." He cuts the phone before Feli gets a word edgeways and lowers his head to his hands. What the hell. How could he let this happen? He watches Antonio mumble in his sleep and sigh softly. He looks peaceful, which is a welcome relief. The man was in so much pain only a few hours ago.

Quietly, Lovino slips out of bed, scribbles a note and leaves it on the nightstand, before slipping his shoes on and quietly exiting the apartment.

How surreal.

* * *

><p>All through the next week, Lovino feels like he's walking on air. He only has three nightmares and four panic attacks, which is a major improvement from those continuous bouts of nervousness that never seemed to go away. He doesn't get half as anxious when dealing with people, even men. Even large men. Antonio is always at the café. He's doing better. He doesn't seem to be in any pain. They're always talking and sometimes even laughing. Lovino likes laughing. He'd forgotten how much he missed it. It makes his chest bloom with warmth and lightness. It's like there's sunlight inside his body, filling him up completely. How could anyone forgo laughter for someone like Rafael?<p>

During his support group appointment, Lovino musters a smile even though he's nervous, and says, "I've been better. I've been having fewer nightmares. This has been a good week."

"That's great, Lovino," Emma says with a huge smile. "What changed, if you don't mind me asking?"

Lovino's face becomes wine red. "Um, well…I – I – um…it's too soon to tell, but I – I mean, it's stupid to assume, right? But I – I think I metsomeonenew," he blurts, feeling as though his head is going to catch fire. There's a resounding silence. He can almost hear crickets chirping.

Lovino's whole outlook about this situation has changed. It's been developing for a while now, but like a scientist having a eureka moment, Lovino's got it all figured. Yes, he's scared. Of course he is. He's been through absolute hell. There's nothing wrong with fear. But if he allows that fear to overpower him…

It's simple. Rafael can only plague Lovino if he's the only one in Lovino's life. All Lovino has to do to win against the man is to allow other people in. Give love. Receive love. He doesn't flinch away when Antonio tries to touch him, he welcomes it. Yes, he's terrified. But Antonio's skin is soft and usually warm, unless he's in great pain. Antonio's touch is like puppy fur. He's so full of affection and gentleness. Lovino does not snap at Ludwig anymore. In fact, he tries to make conversation with him. Difficult? Yes. Lovino can barely tolerate the man on a good day. But Ludwig has some interesting stories to share, and he seems to know all about Gilbert's antics with Antonio and Francis. Lovino can use this information to make conversation with the Spaniard. He loves listening to Antonio talk. It's more how he says what he says. Eyes wide, face flooded with expression, voice lilting, hands making wild gestures.

He's more open with Michelle and Elizabeta, too. He tells them, hesitantly and nervously, about Rafael, about what really happened. He helps Michelle choose a new flower for her hair. He laughs at all of Elizabeta's jokes, whether or not they're funny.

He's only been doing this for a week, but it feels good. It's difficult, oh, it's so difficult, but it feels _right._

Everyone in the support group is gaping at him. "You…you met someone?" Erika asks in a small voice. Lovino can't blame her, because he was just like that mere weeks ago. The idea of being happy with another person again seemed so far out of reach that it was almost in outer space. But now, now it doesn't seem so weird. Lovino feels like he's coping.

"Uh…I think so," Lovino mumbles, blushing some more. "But that's not the point. What I mean to say is…I…I want to be more open with people. It…it makes things easier, even though opening up is so hard."

Later, after the meeting is over and they're all eating biscuits and drinking bad coffee from the long table in the room, Ivan ambles up to him. "I thought you were very inspiring," he says softly, pulling at his sleeves like he does when he's nervous. "It gives me faith in the future."

Lovino blinks. "Oh."

"My neighbour, Yao, he keeps inviting me to eat with his family. Dinner, you know? I turn him down because…I don't know why. Fear, I think. But I think I will accept the invite. Does that sound like a good idea?" he looks at Lovino with huge eyes. He's either asking for permission, or looking for validation. Lovino suspects the latter.

"It sounds like a great idea. Go for it."

Ivan's smile is tiny, hesitant, full of the fear of the unknown. "Okay. Yes. I will go for it. I shall…I shall call him up now. Excuse me." He takes his phone out and walks away.

A thought strikes Lovino. And it's a narcissistic thought, but a valid one, all the same.

Is it possible that helping himself is helping the people around him? It doesn't seem too absurd, does it? After all, people save people. It's why human civilisation has survived for as long as it has.

Something fills Lovino up to the brim. It's warm, it's sweet and it feels like happiness.

Maybe it's hope.

* * *

><p>"Lovino, have you ever heard of art therapy?" asks Antonio one afternoon. The sun is watery, the sky slightly drugged with moist clouds. The day seems to go by as a wispy dream. There are at least eight customers hanging around, one of them, of course, is Antonio. His laptop is open in front of him, some elaborate design for a company logo playing on his screen.<p>

"I've heard of it," Lovino says with a small shrug, placing a cup of cappuccino in front of the man. "Why?" He thinks back to the dark, terrifying paintings in Antonio's room. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Yeah…those paintings you noticed in my bedroom?" says Antonio with a tiny, uncertain smile. He's playing with his hands. The man's not been quite himself lately. He seems nervous, edgy, distracted. Lovino suspects it has something to do with his surgery – it's only weeks away.

"Right," Lovino says simply, staring at him. Lovino's wearing short sleeves today. It exposes his pretty skin, particularly those tell-tale circular scars on his wrist. Cigarette burns. He glances down at them for a moment. "You think I should try it?"

"Do you paint?"

"Uh…no. My brother's pretty good at it. Feli's good at everything, though. He's an art historian, you know? He works at the museum nearby." Uncomfortable again, Lovino shifts his weight from one foot to another. Eyes lowered, face flushed.

"Yeah, I know," Antonio says easily, a placid smile on his face. "You keep forgetting that I know Ludwig. Not very well – Gilbert was in boarding school with us, so I never saw Ludwig much – but I've met him once or twice." He swallows a sip of his cappuccino and lets his eyes sparkle in appreciation. There's that smile again. Lovino looks away, embarrassed. "Do you often run yourself down like that?"

"Only as much as I need to," Lovino retorts, a bitter edge to his voice.

"You don't need to." Antonio stirs the coffee, looks up again and smiles. The man's always smiling.

"You don't need to do that either," Lovino blurts suddenly. He watches Antonio's green eyes dull. A small frown of apparent confusion comes on his lips. "That smiling thing you always do. Even when you're scared or whatever. It's not healthy to hide what you're feeling."

"Did your therapist tell you that?" asks Antonio with a slightly mischievous smirk.

"Yes, but it's something I'm trying out for myself, too. I used to hide everything I felt until I was bitter and weak and angry. I still do that. But I'm…I'm trying not to, anymore."

"Oh?" Antonio raises an eyebrow. "And what are you feeling now, Lovi?"

His face flushes again. He looks away, tugs nervously at the hem of his shirt, and mumbles, "Sort of happy."

The smile Antonio offers next is genuine and infectious.

Lovino goes home and tries this 'art therapy' thing from paints he's borrowed from Feliciano. He's not very talented, he knows that, but to just paint what he's feeling is very…liberating. The colours aren't as bright and cheerful as he'd like them to be, but they're not as dark as Antonio's. It's in-between, which is what Lovino feels right now.

The nightmares are there, of course, but they're not that bad. It also helps that he's dreamt about Antonio more than once.

* * *

><p>On Saturday evening the following week, Feli and Ludwig decide to go out. It's been a while since they've just gone off on their own. Lovino encourages them. He doesn't want to feel like the dead weight tying them down. "Will you be okay alone?" Feli asks for the tenth time.<p>

"I've got pizza, the TV and a blanket. I'm great. Go away."

Feli laughs and Ludwig smirks a little. When they're gone, Lovino flips through the TV, cussing at every channel he sees. Nothing good's going on. How frustrating. Unconsciously, he reaches for his phone and hits the one number he's been texting all day.

"I'm bored. Are you free?"

On the other end, Antonio chuckles. "_It's a nice evening. Let's go to the park."_

When Lovino gets there, Antonio seems to be in a rather pensive mood. Despite trying to be cheerful, he's quiet. Couples walking hand-in-hand. People walking their dogs. Joggers skipping through the grass. Children playing football. The sun is going down, the sky is orange. Antonio just looks up at it, and then down at his feet.

"I really hate this," he says quietly. "I want to walk again, Lovi. I want to walk so badly."

"A few more weeks, Antonio," Lovino promises, squeezing his shoulder.

"I don't want to be such an _invalid_," Antonio continues, as though he's not heard what Lovino said.

"But you're not! You're so independent!"

"I hate this," Antonio repeats, his eyes downcast. A lazy cloud floats by, shielding the setting sun. "I can't wait for that surgery. I can't wait to walk again."

* * *

><p>Gilbert comes over for dinner on Tuesday night. It's a rare visit, because Ludwig prefers to go on drinking binges with his brother instead. Lovino does not have an opinion on Gilbert one way or another, but now, his loud voice and brash mannerisms send little jolts of panic through his blood. Is he being too quiet? Does he look pale? Feli keeps giving him these odd glances…<p>

And when the conversation goes to Lovino, he tenses again. "How have you been doing?" Gilbert asks, and his voice is softer, gentler.

"I'm fine. Better," Lovino replies noncommittally, taking a forkful of his spaghetti.

"My only regret," Gilbert says simply, "Is that I didn't punch that bastard _just one more time_."

After the phone call, Ludwig had called on his brother's help to get Lovino out of Rafael's grip. The two of them had beat Rafael up so badly…He deserved it, it's true. But Lovino's become so panicky at the thought of violence that Gilbert's comment does nothing but make him feel more wired.

"Antonio keeps talking about you," Gilbert goes on, his red eyes sparking with something close to humour. "Small world, isn't it? Amazing coincidence how you met him. But trust me, Francis and I are glad. He's been so moody and depressed since the…accident. Every time he sees you, he looks a little happier."

"When is his surgery? In a fortnight, right?" Lovino asks. He doesn't want to deign Gilbert's comment with a response, but he's genuinely worried. Antonio seems moody and depressed anyway, Lovino or not.

"Yes," Gilbert says delicately, sipping water.

"And he'll be able to walk again, he says."

"Ah," Gilbert hums. He twirls spaghetti around his fork for a full minute, not looking at anyone but his plate. "Luddy?" he prompts, still not making eye-contact.

Ludwig sighs softly. "I…I'm not at liberty to disclose too much about Antonio. Hell, I'm not even his doctor. I'm a radiologist, for heaven's sake." But despite the rant, Ludwig sets his fork down and glances nervously from Feli to Lovino. "Antonio's case is being handed by Dr. Kiku Honda. He…he says there's a fifty-fifty success rate with the surgery. If it works, great. If it doesn't…well…"

"Then Antonio's…" Lovino whispers, feeling cold from the inside. "He's stuck in that wheelchair forever, isn't he?"

"Try telling Toni that, though," Gilbert mutters darkly. "He reacted very badly when the doctor told him about this – screaming and crying. It was terrible. He doesn't listen when Francis and I try to talk to him about it. He's got his heart set on being able to walk again – I mean, that's perfectly understandable – but he absolutely refuses to believe the other possibility. It's great that he's being so positive, I guess." Gilbert looks a little unsure, biting his bottom lip like that.

That doesn't sound like positivity to Lovino. It sounds like stark desperation.

* * *

><p>"What happened?" Lovino asks Gilbert just as the other man's about to leave. "The argument that made Antonio storm out and trip down the stairs?"<p>

Gilbert's eyes glaze over slightly. He looks down to his feet, and then slowly raises his head to study the ceiling. Several seconds pass before he finally meets Lovino's golden eyes. "You know," he says finally, "I don't even remember. It seemed important at the time, but now I don't even remember."

* * *

><p>A day before Antonio's due to go to the hospital, and they're in the coffee shop once more. He's quiet and fidgety. He doesn't meet Lovino's gaze. He tries to shift in his chair but winces and gives up several times. The drink and food is untouched, cold.<p>

Lovino sits in front of him, offers as warm a smile as he can muster, and says, "Do you want to see what I painted?"

Wordless, Antonio nods.

"Hold on. I'll be right back."

Lovino goes to the kitchen, where there's a small locker for the employees. He takes out his backpack and pulls out a sketchbook. It's not very old, but well-used. Lovino's been painting almost every single night. He can't understand most of what he draws. It's abstract and confusing, but Feli's the art expert and he seems to love it.

"Here," Lovino says, placing it before Antonio. "Tell me what you think. They're obviously not as good as your drawings, but I tried my best."

The Spaniard flips through them very carefully, his fingers delicately gliding over the dried paint. He pauses to feel the colours, each blue and yellow and red and black. Green, white, orange and pink. He lingers on those more. Lovino can't just sit there in front of him, he's got customers to serve. So while Antonio leafs through the sketchbook, Lovino's making coffees and warming sandwiches.

Twenty minutes later, when Lovino comes back to Antonio's table, the man's looking very sadly into Lovino's eyes. "They're beautiful. I love them."

"You could look happier."

"I am happy, Lovi."

Lovino lets his fingers brush over Antonio's hand. The feel of human skin is still new for him, special and explosive. But Antonio doesn't even register it.

* * *

><p>Heart-thudding. Antiseptic smell so sharp it can cut glass. White walls, the well-scrubbed orderliness of medicines and machines. Oh, how Lovino hates hospitals. He's had to spend long torturous days here, recovering from Rafael's wounds. Whispered words in hushed tones, the cool professionalism of nurses and doctors. Lovino walks like a robot. He knows if he thinks too much about this, he's going to have a panic attack. And he's past that stage now. He hasn't had a full-blown attack in almost a month. He doesn't want to spoil that record.<p>

In one hand, flowers. Just something hastily picked up at the hospital gift shop. They're tulips, pink ones. Would Antonio like them? What if he doesn't?

The other hand is curled up and stiff, his arm straight and pressed to his side. His body is sparking with energy, not the good kind. This makes him want to run and scream.

Lovino doesn't look at the room number. He knows if he thinks about it for even a second more, he's going to turn around and walk away. No, he just pushes past, taking a deep breath and biting his tongue.

In his mind, Antonio is lying on the bed. But he looks up, sees Lovino, and cries, "Lovi, look what I can do!" in that high voice with those bright green eyes. Then he jumps down and starts dancing to no music, laughing as he does. Sure, he's a little unsteady, but Lovino goes up to hold his hands and balance him. Antonio thinks it's all very sweet, and it _is _very sweet. Things are perfect the way they are now.

…But what Lovino sees is what he knows he's going to see.

Antonio's on the bed. There's a wheelchair right next to him. And he's staring at the ceiling with lifeless green eyes and white skin. He doesn't even look when Lovino enters. He doesn't react at all. He doesn't move or smile or even glance at Lovino as the Italian approaches, placing the flowers on the nightstand. "…Antonio?"

"The surgery failed," he says quietly. His voice is dead.

"Oh, Antonio. I'm so sorry." A hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me. Go away."

"Please don't be like that…"

"Just leave."

"You've been telling Francis and Gilbert the same thing, haven't you?"

Antonio has not made eye-contact yet. He doesn't look like he can. Lovino almost thinks he doesn't want to live anymore.

* * *

><p>"There's nothing we can do," says Ludwig simply, when Lovino marches across the hospital to speak to him. "The doctors tried their best, but it failed. I'm terribly sorry, Lovino, but these things happen. They happen more times than I'd like to admit."<p>

Lovino's eyes are filled with tears he refuses to acknowledge. "But have you even seen him? He's like a living corpse."

Ludwig lowers his eyes for a second before glancing up and sighing softly. "I tried to speak to him. I know. These things…they leave deep psychological scars."

"He doesn't deserve this!"

"People seldom ever do."

* * *

><p>Antonio hasn't touched his food. He's not taking his medicines, and he's barely drinking water. They've put him on a drip now. He's still refusing to…to live. Two days later, Lovino goes to visit him one more time, and the door swings open to reveal a sobbing Francis and a red-eyed Gilbert.<p>

Lovino closes the door after they leave. He has his backpack with him, and takes out a freshly bought sketchbook, a set of paints, and a few brushes. He places them in front of Antonio, who merely blinks at him. "What do you feel?"

Without a word, Antonio pushes the book and paints off his lap and watches them clatter to the floor. "Just. Leave."

* * *

><p>Lovino has not lived through Rafael for nothing. He's not completely on the other side yet. He won't be, not for a long time. He still goes to his therapy and his support group, and it really does help, tiring though it is. He's not suffered through all of this without having a revelation or two.<p>

The first is simple enough: _Shit happens._

The second is simpler still: _Deal with it._

So Lovino comes back every single day with packed lunches of pasta and cut up tomatoes. He always brings the sketchbook and paints, places them in front of Antonio, and says, "What do you feel?" Usually, Antonio throws them to the floor. Some days he merely closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. He barely eats, and his weight is falling dangerously. He doesn't even take his medicines properly. Antonio's not physically strong enough yet to handle this sort of thing. He's still recovering from the surgery, and that would be bad enough without him being so self-destructive.

Gilbert and Francis visit him every day, literally begging him to take care of himself. Gilbert, being the coach, has gone through the trouble of finding a long list of wheelchair sports Antonio can partake in. Francis has purchased several of those self-help and self-esteem books for Antonio. He plays uplifting movies on his iPad, but it's not like the Spaniard is ever paying attention.

One day, Lovino just snaps.

"You're not helping _anybody_, certainly not yourself," he snarls, slamming his fist down onto the bed. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at? This isn't some goddamn game. Look around – thousands of people have suffered far worse than you have and they're dealing with it better. Antonio, it feels like shit and it's going to feel like shit for a while, but this is not how you handle things! Get a goddamn grip!"

Antonio's blank face starts contorting. A dark frown, a fierce glare. "I don't need to hear this. Go away. Just leave me alone."

"No! Fuck you! I'm not going to let you sit here and waste away! Listen, you need to understand something."

"I know, I know. Life sucks. Get on with it." He sounds so bored.

"_Exactly_. Life sucks sometimes. You can't just sit here and surrender to it! What if I'd done that? Have you ever had someone pull you by the hair and slam you face-first into a wall repeatedly? Have you ever had someone chuck a fucking chair at you? Kick you in the ribs? It's hell. It's literal fucking hell. Even after I got out of there, I thought I was going to die. I thought I deserved to die. But look at me, surviving and shit."

"You're god. Moving on."

"No, not moving on. I'm _not _god, I'm anything but. There's nothing so special about me. I'm not extraordinarily gifted. I'm not intelligent or athletic. I'm not even rich. I'm seldom nice to people and I still get stupidly insecure when I think people are comparing me to my brother. But you know what, Antonio? _I've fought to be happy. _And I am. Not entirely, mind you. But who is ever _entirely _happy? But I've tried and tried and look. Look. I'm going to make it. I'm going to survive. What about you? When it's all said and done, what are _you _going to do? Because you have two options and the freedom to choose – recover or die."

Antonio's become paler. His eyes are filled. His hands shake. "Just go away."

"I will not. I will _not._" Lovino picks up the fallen sketchbook and paints. He puts them in front of Antonio, and repeats, "What do you feel?"

Antonio stares at the blank page for a long moment. Lovino almost thinks he's not going to do it. He's not going to express himself. He's simply going to lie on this bed and waste away. He's going to choose to be unhappy and bitter. He's going to choose to feel sorry for himself and tumble and fail. It's the path he's on right now, and it's killing him. Not just his body, which has become so weak, so delicate. But also his soul. Oh, Antonio's electric, colourful soul seems already dead. He's going to refuse again, isn't he? Lovino can see it in his eyes. What will happen when he does give up? What happens then? What happens to _them_, whatever they are to each other?

Lovino's not ready to admit he has feelings for the man. That will take some more time. But when it's late at night and he can't sleep, he stares at the ceiling where the moon throws grey light on the walls and the shadows seem to swallow him whole, and he can _almost _tell himself that he's in love. One day, he'll be able to say it out loud, not just for his own ears, but for Antonio's, too.

If Antonio survives. If Antonio recovers. If Antonio chooses to live.

His fingers tremble as they run through the blank page. There's a tear slipping down his face. And finally, he opens the paint box, uncaps one of the bottles, and covers the whole page in one single shade.

Fifteen minutes later, he hands the paper to Lovino, It's been painted entirely black.

"This is what I feel," he says.

This darkness, this hell, this loneliness and this fear. This violent, all-consuming feeling that is not _one _emotion, but many. A cocktail so toxic that most people would rather die than try to fight it.

But here, on a page, is the feeling. This darkness is the sum total of the poison in Antonio's heart.

He's just admitted it out loud, even if it's on a paper and it's just one shade of black with not a single stroke of _anything else _to it.

Lovino stares at it for several silent minutes. His body feels heavy with concern and light with pride. He's floating in the air and yet being blown away by the wind. This has taken courage. Antonio has used all the courage he can muster right now. It's a small painting and a bleak one, but it matters. "You're going to be okay," he says finally, a small smile gracing his lips.

It's a cloudy day outside, the sky threatening to rain. But Lovino can see just a spark of sunshine in this cold hospital room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Done, finally. This fic was really something. It challenged me in so many ways. Especially in the power of describing emotion. I hope I've done a good enough job, and I hope I haven't trivialised either Lovino's or Antonio's situation. I'm not ashamed to admit that when the idea in its entirety took form, I was **_**more than a little intimidated. **_**I really do hope I've done it justice.**

**And in case I haven't (xD), here's basically what I wanted to portray: **

**Lovino and Antonio have both been through terrible things. Lovino seems to be handling it very badly, but he's actually fighting to improve things for himself. Antonio, on the other hand, is clinging onto this one hope that this surgery will act like a magic wand and give him the ability to walk again. When it doesn't, he has a complete breakdown and doesn't know how to deal with his disability anymore. So yeah, both of them have gone through bad things, but they're handling them in two radically different ways.**

**The Spamano isn't established by the end of the fic because it would be too soon for Lovino. Lovi still needs more time to recover before he can think about getting into another relationship. I personally believe than an implied Spamano works more naturally. The fic also has a lot of seemingly random sentences like Antonio's fear of heights. I added that because it's a headcanon of mine and I thought it would work well with this sort of fic, but you can look at it literally any way you want. **

**If you notice any typos or inconsistencies, just ignore them for now, haha :D I'm actually on vacation and the connectivity here is _terrible_, so I've not edited this as much as I should have. I shall fix them when I get back home.**

**Oh yeah, one more thing: Lovino is showing (some of) the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). While not everyone who's been through abuse suffers from this, people do sometimes show some of the symptoms. Lovino gets anxiety attacks, sleep disturbances and tends to avoid things that remind him of Rafael. **

**Thank you so much for reading. Please review :) **


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